


Sex on the Beach

by mokuyoubi



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Established Relationship, Kink, M/M, Public Sex, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:43:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the title is pretty self-explanatory</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex on the Beach

The sun is setting when they arrive back on the beach. Most of the tourists have cleared out, with only a few dozen left scattered down a couple hundred yards away. Brendon lets his board drop near the shoreline and shrugs out of the sleeves of his wetsuit, letting it fall around his waist. His muscles are pleasantly weak from exertion, and when he reaches their things, his legs go out from under him. He flops face down on his blanket and presses his cheek against the sun-warmed fabric.

Spencer is a few steps behind and sort of disgustingly full of energy. He’s practically _skipping_ , kicking up wet sand in every direction. “There’s enough light left to go again.” 

Brendon throws a hand out in the general direction of his voice. “I hate you and your smug jogger’s endurance.” 

“That’s not what you said last night,” Spencer teases. His breath is warm on the back of Brendon’s neck, followed by a quick press of his lips. 

Brendon grabs a fistful of wet sand and flings it backwards. Spencer catches him by the wrist and jerks him around onto his back, rucking the blanket up in the process. The sand digs into Brendon’s shoulders and Spencer looms above him. Droplets of water catch at the end of Spencer’s hair, dripping onto Brendon’s chest and running in rivulets up his shoulders. 

“Should I remind you of it right now?” Spencer asks, his voice soft and low, going straight to Brendon’s dick. 

For a second, all Brendon can do is laugh, because Spencer can’t be serious. But Spencer’s fingers flex around his wrist, and his eyes dart over Brendon’s face with a sort of intensity usually reserved for the bedroom, and Brendon’s laughter dies in his throat. “You can’t be serious,” he whispers, and Spencer quirks a brow as if to say _oh, can’t I_? 

Spencer springs to his feet with that same infuriating energy. He reaches down to pull Brendon up as well, and Brendon can’t help but allow it with a sort of sick fascination. Spencer leads him back to the waterline. The waves are regaining strength, every third one or so threatening to knock Brendon off his feet and leaving seaweed clinging to his ankles. 

They wade past the closed food stand and a perpetually empty lifeguard tower, further and further away from the other occupants of the beach. Down here the sand is littered in rocks, and just a short ways down the beach gives way to thousands of smooth, rounded pebbles shadowed by the sharp rise of a cliff. 

Brendon sees the reason Spencer’s led him this way, now. Beachrock has grown high and jagged here, both on the shore and in the water, forming something of a tide pool. More importantly, the rocks act as barrier from the rest of the beach. During the daytime in peak season, there would no doubt be dozens of tourists exploring the area, but now there’s at least the illusion of privacy. Brendon still can’t believe that Spencer’s actually serious about this…

Spencer drops down on a smooth patch of sand just beyond the tide pool. His toes curl in the damp sand of the rising tide. He tilts his head back to look up at Brendon and arches a brow. Brendon kicks a little bit of sand at him. “Okay, I get it, you’re way more hardcore than me,” he says. 

Spencer wraps a hand around Brendon’s ankle. His fingers brush up the curve from the top of Brendon’s foot to his leg and then he gives a gentle tug. “Come here,” he says, voice soft. 

Brendon’s on his knees before he really has time to think about it; Spencer’s words tend to have that affect on him. He leans into Spencer, supporting his weight on his hands, and meets him for a kiss. Their lips are still cool from the ocean and taste like saltwater. When Spencer licks at Brendon’s palate his tongue burns by contrast. Slowly, without breaking the kiss, Spencer leans back and Brendon follows him down to the sand, half-straddling his lap. 

“If we get caught,” Brendon murmurs, between kisses, and Spencer laughs. 

“We’re not going to get caught. People do this and get away with it every day.” 

“Okay,” Brendon says and leans back, “and I’m sure that reasoning will go over really well with our publicist when the pictures are spread all over the internet.” 

“When did you turn into someone’s grandmother?” Spencer teases. 

Brendon squeaks in mock outrage and flings wet sand at Spencer’s chest. It’s sort of pointless, given that they’re practically coated in it. All the same, Spencer’s eyes spark with the challenge and he grabs his own handful and shoves it down the back of Brendon’s wetsuit. He knows how that drives Brendon crazy, the grains rubbing against his skin and impossible to get out without stripping down completely. Brendon responds with the only appropriate payback, which is grinding sand into Spencer’s precious hair—he’ll be scrubbing it out in the shower for days. 

Spencer shifts and bucks his hips, and Brendon’s muscles are too weak from the day’s exertion to fight it when Spencer flips their position. “You’re a little bitch,” Spencer tells him mildly. He flicks his hair out of his face with an annoyed expression, sand and water hitting Brendon in the face. 

Brendon lets Spencer pin his hands to the ground. He’s waiting for Spencer’s revenge, and it shocks a gasp out of him when instead of continuing their sand war, Spencer ducks in quickly and fixes his mouth over Brendon’s throat and sucks hard. Brendon can’t fight the shudder that works through him at, or the way his hips strain up against Spencer’s. He was already half-hard even with his misgivings about public sex, and when Spencer’s hips press back in a slow grind, Brendon’s dick gets fully into the game. He lays his palm to Spencer’s back and holds him close. 

Spencer trails his kiss up Brendon’s throat. His teeth scrape at the sensitive place above bone behind Brendon’s ear and Brendon has to bite his lip to keep from crying out. “N-not fair,” he pants, when Spencer’s moved on to his jaw. Little flares of mixed pain and pleasure spark through his chest at Spencer’s touch. 

“You rubbed _sand_ in my _hair_ ,” Spencer says. He punctuates his words with little bites across Brendon’s cheek, ending at his mouth. Brendon would giggle, except that Spencer’s rolling his hips again, in time with his tongue sliding against Brendon’s, and it’s sort of distracting. 

Spencer’s hand tugs at Brendon’s wetsuit, and Brendon could continue with his protests, but they both know he’s going to give in in the end anyway, so he helps instead, pushing at the neoprene and shimmying his hips. The moment his dick is free, Spencer wraps a hand around it. The sand between their skin catches, bright points of pain when Spencer strokes slowly. Brendon makes a whining noise and Spencer leans back enough to get the Velcro of his boardshorts open. 

The tide is coming in higher, brushing at Brendon’s calves and the backs of his knees, and sand is digging into his shoulders and his ass. “You know,” he tells Spencer, trying to get his breathing under control. It’s no easy task when Spencer settles his weight back against Brendon’s body and their cocks line up together. “If you wanted to indulge your inner exhibitionist, there are a lot more _comfortable_ places it could have been done.” 

Spencer quirks a brow at him and very pointedly rocks his hips down. His dick stutters along the crevice of Brendon’s thigh. “There’s nothing sexy about the back of your car, Brendon,” he says. 

“Yeah, well there’s nothing particularly sexy about sand in your asshole, either,” Brendon grumbles back. It sort of ruins his argument when he meets Spencer’s downward thrust with an arched back. 

Spencer chuckles and presses his mouth against Brendon’s temple. “I’d let you be on top, but we know the whole point is that your stamina sort of fails.” Brendon purses his lips a makes a silent vow that once his muscles are no longer mush, he’s going to show Spencer a thing or two about his stamina. 

“Anyway,” Spencer continues, “I’ll kiss it better later.” Brendon’s dick jumps in anticipation, because _shit yeah_. He might be willing to let the comment about his faily stamina slide, because the things Spencer can do with his tongue…

A rough wave surges up, breaking at their thighs, and the slide is suddenly a lot easier. This time when Spencer wraps a hand around them both, it’s without the bite of the grains of sand. He nudges the tip of his cock against Brendon’s, just under the head, smearing his precome there. 

Spencer’s being slow about it, almost torturously so, but Brendon guesses that’s sort of the point. Brendon’s head falls back against the sand with a groan and stares blankly at the sky, almost entirely purple by now. He could try to hurry things, but as long as it doesn’t mean getting caught, he’ll let Spence have his way about it. 

Spencer’s kisses are slow and familiar and warm. The water comes higher with each wave, and there’s something erotic about the feel of the sand slipping out from under his legs as the tide goes back out. It feels like the rush of falling, only to be caught again when the next wave rolls in, enveloping him. But even so, with all the sensation and the growing dark and roar of the waves, Brendon can’t quite bring himself to relax. 

Sometime around when the waves start tickling near his shoulders, Brendon realises he’s rocking his hips in rhythm with the water and with each wave, he can feel his orgasm building higher and higher, but never breaking. Soon the water’s going to be too high, and Brendon isn’t sure he can wait that long, anyway.

“Spencer,” he pants. His fingers curl into the skin just above the waist of Spencer’s boardshorts. He can hear his own desperation in his voice and the ragged breaths he draws, but he can’t bring himself to break the rhythm he’s built. 

“It’s okay, Bren,” Spencer says near his ear. His grip tightens and he moves his wrist to match Brendon’s hips. “Just let it go.” 

The tide recedes and another wave catches it and drags it back up, crashing at Brendon’s shoulders and rolling gently through the hair at the base of his neck. He comes, shuddering, spilling in Spencer’s hand, mouth open on a soundless cry, eyes shut tight. 

“Fuck,” Spencer breathes. His hand speeds up and it’s almost too much for Brendon to take, chasing the pleasure until it’s close to pain. Then Spencer’s coming too. He slumps half on Brendon, half in the sand, his breath stirring the hair on Brendon’s forehead. 

The water laps at them, washing away the mess. It’s soothing and feels a little like floating, and if they weren’t for all intents and purposes naked on a public beach, Brendon could probably doze off. As it is, he’s already developing plans involving their pool, neighbours be damned.

He elbows Spencer a little in the ribs. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you were practically begging me to come so you could too, Mister Stamina,” he mutters. 

Spencer huffs a laugh and shifts, lifting his weight. Brendon cracks an eye to see him rising to his feet and refastening his shorts. He nudges at Brendon’s leg with his toe. “Come on, lazy ass.” 

“You’re going to have to carry me after that,” Brendon says, tossing his arms over his head. 

Spencer grumbles, but he still gets leans over and takes Brendon’s hands to help him to his feet. “I’ll carry your _board_ for you,” he offers. 

“I guess that will suffice,” Brendon says magnanimously. The wetsuit is really uncooperative. He has to fight with it for a few minutes to make himself decent again. He ignores Spencer’s very pointed snickers and plots elaborate revenge involving Spencer’s shampoo and food dye. 

At least it’s entirely dark now, and Spencer can’t drag him back out to catch one last wave. Spencer might have been the one making a point, but Brendon’s got an orgasm and free labour out of it, so he’s going to count it as a win.


End file.
